Resolution
by OrangeShipper
Summary: Set immediately after the end of Series 1. My take how a resolution between Mary and Matthew could be reached. Cue lots of soul searching and a good old argument!
1. Chapter 1

Hi all :) This is my first foray in Downton Abbey fanfic. Any and all feedback is much appreciated!

**Resolution**

The warm afternoon sun bathed the grounds of Downton Abbey and the Lords and Ladies gathered for the Earl of Grantham's garden party. She sat, at a distance, desolately slouched in a delicate garden chair, her whole demeanour of defeat a far cry from the proud elegance she normally displayed. Displayed was perhaps the appropriate word, for Lady Mary Crawley was well aware that the easy confidence she exuded was not often reflected in her soul. Not recently, anyway. No, for the past few months she had not felt confident or assured of anything. Of her feelings, of her position, of her own virtue... She sighed heavily, not caring who could see her or what they would think.

What had happened to her? She used to feel so sure of herself. But now? Well, now, Matthew had proposed, she'd been a fool, she'd dithered and delayed and now it was all too late. He was leaving, and her heart felt as if it were about to rip out of her chest. Oh, and to top it all off, to put the cherry on the cake, England was at war with Germany. Mary wasn't quite sure what that meant yet, for her or for Downton, but it surely was not a good thing. She wasn't really sure she cared, in any case. At this precise moment, she was quite beyond caring about anything but the gaping hole that Matthew would leave in her life. What pleasure would this place or any of the people in it hold for her now, without him?

Wiping away a tear that had escaped down her cheek, she considered what had brought her to this. She had never intended to fall in love with him. For heaven's sake, she had been determined to hate him! And so she should, this middle-class jumped up nobody swooping in to steal her inheritance. And yet, against her own desire, she had found herself becoming increasingly fond of her father's heir. No-one could deny that he was handsome, that he had an easy charm about him. It was more than that, though. Maybe it was because she had disliked him so at first that she had had no qualms in telling him precisely what she thought of him. To her surprise, he had not shied away in embarrassed defeat but had been frank and quick-witted in his comebacks. In some twisted way, this had led to her having a more genuine relationship with Matthew Crawley than she ever had with another man. She began to appreciate the fact that she could tell him what was truly in her heart, and that he would not shy away from that. In fact, he'd seemed to appreciate her all the more for it. And quite without her realising, before she knew it, she had fallen in love with him.

And then, he had proposed. Mary clenched her fists in her lap, screwing her eyes tight shut against the tears that would flow if she let them. Why did she feel this ridiculous need to be completely honest with him? She had desperately wanted to accept his proposal, but could not do so without telling him the terrible truth, which she knew would surely cause her to lose him. And so she had promised to give him her answer on her return from London, by which time she was sure she would have worked out just how to tell him.

And then, her mother fell pregnant. Oh cruel world, could the timing have been more unfortunate! It had just confused the whole issue even further in her mind. Of course, poor Matthew had become convinced that this was the reason for her delay in accepting him, how could he not? Yet as his frustration grew, and he pressed more fervently for an answer, the harder she found it to tell him. She could not bear the hurt in his eyes when she could not answer his simple question, did she love him enough to spend her life with him? Yes! Yes, she did! But she could not bear to reward his hope before crushing it again so cruelly with the sordid truth of her character, and so she stammered, and hesitated, and in doing so hurt him all the more and added fuel to the fire of his doubts in her affection.

And now, her mother had miscarried, and it appeared as if now her mind could be made up. And he had left. It was only in that moment that Mary realised that nothing else mattered to her, that she would marry him in a heartbeat whatever his position. But the realisation came too late. And damn him, to the last he had wished her well and wanted the best for her. Why did he have to be so noble when she could not?

Her parent's guests gradually began to disperse, while she sat still, sobbing into her kerchief, lamenting her loss that was down to nothing but her own foolishness.

Mary started suddenly at the light touch of a hand on her shoulder. She quickly wiped her eyes, rising quickly to her feet and smoothing her dress down.

"Oh, Cousin Isobel," Mary smiled weakly. Matthew's mother, quite possibly the last person she felt like dealing with just now. "I hope your afternoon has not been dampened too severely by my father's announcement."

"Mary." The older woman smiled sadly at the younger, noting the sad pretence at normality. "Listen. I'm afraid I do not know what has passed between you and my son, but I am sure of this – you must go after Matthew and talk to him." She reached out a comforting hand, resting it lightly on her arm.

"What?" Mary blinked, her facade crumbling as she realised how clearly Isobel could see her distress. "Oh it would be useless – he has made up his mind to leave. He hates me Isobel, and I cannot blame him. How could I possibly convince him of my affection now?" She paused for a halting intake of breath. "I'm afraid I have ruined everything, and have no-one to blame but myself."

"Well, whether that is true or not," Isobel retorted, "something must be done." She tightened her hold on Mary's arm. "Mary, I do not pretend to understand why you hesitated in accepting Matthew's proposal. But tell me one thing, now. Do you love my son?"

"Yes," Mary breathed, surprising herself at the ease with which the answer flowed from her lips. Why, oh why could it not come so easily to the one person that it mattered to the most? "Yes I do. And I am truly sorry for the pain I have caused him, but I'm afraid that it is too late for Matthew to ever believe me."

"It may be," his mother did her best to look reassuringly at Mary, her own heart hurting at the desolation she could see in the young woman's eyes. "I can tell you this though – I do know that Matthew loves you. And if you truly feel the same for him, you cannot let him walk away without a fight. Yes, he has been very upset by this whole matter. But," she fairly shook Mary's arm now, "if you each love the other, surely you would each be happier together than apart. You must at least try!"

"But there is no hope!" Mary wailed despairingly. "You don't understand, you cannot understand!"

"I understand this one thing, Mary," Isobel set her with a resolute gaze. "I can guarantee that there is no hope if you will not even try. If you do not fight for him now, he will leave, that is certain. Is that what you want?"

"No" she whispered.

And with that, Cousin Isobel walked away, leaving Mary alone with her thoughts once more. Maybe she was right... She did love Matthew. She resolved then that she still must tell him about Pamuk – he would not have her after that, she was sure of it, but at least then he would know that her hesitation was not anything to do with how much she loved him. He deserved that at least.

With a new determination she strode towards the village, in the direction of Crawley House.

Thanks for getting this far! More to come. Please let me know what you thought! :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all for your kind reviews :)

**Chapter 2**

At the sound of the doorbell, Matthew raised his head slowly from where it had been resting on his arms. He had been slumped like this over the table in the calm blue lounge of Crawley House since his return from the Grantham's garden party, feeling numb. Lord and Lady Grantham. The big house. Mary. His future? He had thought so, for a while. Now just one thing was clear to him; he could not remain. It was all too uncertain. He had realised, in the turmoil over cousin Cora's pregnancy, quite startlingly, that his life had been turned around and back again more than once through absolutely no control of his own.

He had been quite happy in Manchester, with his mother. They had never entertained any notion of leading a grander life than they did. He had not asked to become the heir of Lord Grantham, to become an Earl ministering to an estate so grand as Downton. He had not desired it, and evidently neither had his newfound family; yet it had become so. Just when he had been beginning to see a future for himself, had begun to accept it, the rug had been pulled out from under him, forcing him to once again contemplate the life he had never wished to leave in the first place and yet had been made to. And just when he had determined that he could accept that, Cora had miscarried and, once again, beyond any control or desire of his own, he had been thrown back into the position of heir.

It seemed unjust that such momentous turns in his own fortune should have been thrust upon him such. Which was why he must now leave, there was no other option – he must, for now, do something with his life that he had chosen for himself. He had no real intention of leaving forever, simply needing to be in control of his own life for a time. He knew that Robert would be disappointed, but hoped that he might understand.

And then, of course, there was Mary. He certainly could not stay now, as things were between them. He could not bear it. To see her around the estate every day, and yet not be with her would be too much, the pain of her rejection too fresh in his heart. He knew it had been too much to hope for, that she might love him as he loved her. He had begun to think that maybe, she might... She had no longer seemed so cold towards him, had begun to smile, laugh, flirt with him... And considering how she had made her initial feelings concerning him perfectly clear, he had hoped beyond hope that her softening of attitude signified genuine affection. It had certainly seemed so, when he had been sure that he felt his own passion reflected in her kiss.

It was too painful to dwell on.

A second insistent ring of the doorbell jolted him out of his reverie. Where the blazes was Molesly? Matthew sighed as he remembered that he had spared his butler from duties that evening to help clean up the aftermath of the garden party. He made his way to the door.

He opened it, and was immediately taken aback to be faced with the very object of his thoughts staring resolutely back at him. Mary. Her face impassive, he could read nothing behind her eyes. The sight of her twisted his soul into so many contradictory feelings. She frustrated him, yet she attracted him. She made his heart soar, and she made it crumble and shatter. At this precise moment, truth be told, he did not know whether the urge he felt was to kiss her or to slam the door in her face.

Mary did not miss the troubled, pained look that passed through Matthew's eyes as he opened the door. He leaned across the doorway, his arm a barrier. She suspected that she was the last person he wanted to see, but that did not matter. She was determined, he must know the truth.

"What do you want, Mary?" he spoke resignedly. "Why have you come?"

"May I come in?

He was surprised at the quiet calm of her request, his earlier anger beginning to resurface. Had her tears passed so quickly that she was now so unaffected? Did she care so little for him, for his feelings?

"What for? There is nothing left to say, Mary. There can be nothing left to say. You have made your position abundantly clear." He tried, and failed, to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"Matthew, please... There is more to say, for my part at least. But, not here... Please, may I come in?"

Warily, he frowned, before stepping aside with a resigned sigh. He gestured towards the living room, following after her as she entered. Upon entering the room, they faced each other, the distance between them, both physical and emotional, stretching like an abyss. He waited for her to speak, while she twisted her hat nervously in her hands.

"I know how my actions have appeared to you, Matthew," she began her carefully prepared words. "I know that my hesitation to give you an answer made it seem as though I did not care for you." She paused, as a shadow passed fleetingly across Matthew's eyes acknowledging the truth of her statement. "But, the truth is... The reason I have come here is, I need to tell you – I need you to understand something," she stammered, growing increasingly frustrated at herself. She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "I did not hesitate because I did not care, Matthew, because I was more concerned with your position. In a strange way, I hesitated because I did care, I do care, about you."

"Evidently not enough," Matthew responded coldly, his clear blue eyes like ice. "Any affection you may have had was clearly not worth the risk of me losing my position!"

"It was not that simple!" Mary cried.

"Wasn't it?" he snapped back. "There could be nothing simpler, Mary. If you loved me, me and not my entitlement, then all you had to do was say so." His words cut harshly into her like a knife.

"Do you not think if I was concerned only for your position that I would have accepted you immediately?" Mary retorted, forgetting her purpose in her defence. "Would I not have accepted you, no, chased you even when you came to Downton two years ago?"

"I don't know, Mary!"

"And in any case," she continued on her tirade, "it was near a month after you proposed that my mother fell pregnant! Do you assume that I was in anticipation of the fact that your inheritance would come into question? Why would I have waited then if that were my reason!"

"Maybe you were just weighing up your options. Clearly I fell short of the mark." Matthew tried to keep the hurt from his voice, rising in exasperation.

"No, Matthew!" Tears sprang unbidden to Mary's eyes. "You do not understand, you cannot yet. It was precisely because I loved you that I could not give you an answer, because you do not know the truth about me!"

"Because you what?" Matthew had heard nothing past the tiny admission that made his heart flip over. Mary's lips twitched almost, _almost_ into a smile at her sudden ability to say the words.

"Because I loved you. Because I – I do – love you. In truth I do not know why it has taken me so long to be able to say, because it has been in heart for months. I do love you, Matthew."

"Mary –" Matthew took one step towards her, a glimmer of hope in his breast. Just a glimmer, for he still could not fully be sure of the truth of her words.

"No Matthew, just wait," Mary interrupted him, unwilling to allow his hope to rise before she crushed it once more with her terrible admission. "There is something which you do not know about me. I could not accept you without having told you, because you deserve to know what manner of person you intend to marry."

"I don't understand," Matthew's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I have always been honest with you Matthew, truly I have," Mary continued. "Once I was aware that I loved you, I knew I could not keep it from you - I did not wish to keep it from you, as I loved you too much to lie to you. Yet I was too afraid to tell you. That was why I could not give you an answer, for I knew that once you knew the truth you would not have me anyway." She surprised herself at how calmly she was able to speak, considering the raging torrent of her feelings.

"What could you possibly tell me that would alter my affections?" Matthew pressed. "I do not think you realise just how much I –"

"Do not say it, I beg of you!" Mary pleaded, persuading herself that if he did not say it, he would not feel it before he knew her true character. "I am not the woman that you think I am."

"Stop playing games Mary, it isn't fair," he spoke sharply, angered by Mary's rebuke. "Speak plainly what is in your mind; I can take no more of your riddles." His eyebrows furrowed in frustration, eyes locked with hers, daring her to say her piece or leave.

Mary's uncharacteristically small, quiet voice cut through the thick silence. She took a deep breath, her eyes fluttering closed as she could not bear to see the certain disappointment in his eyes.

"I... I am not a virtuous woman, Matthew." When the silence grew unbearable she spoke again, just in case he had misunderstood her meaning, her eyes still closed as a shield against the world. "I have been intimate with another man."

..~-~..

A/N: More to come! Once again, reviews greatly appreciated - they really spur me on! Constructive criticism welcomed :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you once again for your kind reviews! They've really encouraged me!

**Chapter 3**

He couldn't breath. Matthew felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut, knocking all the air out of his body. A physical pain seemed to pierce his whole being, and he fought the urge to vomit. After several attempts, he managed to speak.

"Who?" he choked out. In an instant he regretted the question, wondering whether ignorance would not be more comforting. But he had to know.

"Kemal Pamuk," Mary answered, her voice barely above a whisper. Matthew frowned in confusion.

"The... The Turkish gentleman?" Matthew recalled the man, though it had been well over a year since his brief visit, and he had barely spoken a word to him. He felt sickened as he remembered that this was because Pamuk had seemed far more interested in Mary. "But, he –"

"Yes." Speaking now, Mary felt as though some other power that was not herself was speaking the words through her. She could hear her own voice coming from her lips, yet it seemed entirely disconnected from herself. "He died." She breathed slowly, composing herself. "He died in my bed, Matthew."

Matthew had to grasp the nearby mantelpiece to steady himself. Bowing his head, he screwed his eyes tight shut, desperately hoping that this was some terrible dream from which he could awaken. Several anguished moments passed, and no relief came. No matter how hard he tried to block them out, images of Mary and Pamuk, entwined together, taunted his mind's eye. He turned his face away to hide the single tear that had escaped down his cheek. Gripping the mantelpiece until his knuckles were white, Matthew's quiet voice shook with emotion as he spoke.

"Mary," he could barely bear to speak her name. "Are you telling me that... That you are no longer a – a –" he grimaced.

"No!" Mary exclaimed. Her heart sank as she watched him; she could only imagine his disgust at her, at her character, her behaviour, her concealment of her lack of virtue up until now. He clearly could not even bear to look at her. "No, I am, still. He promised me that I would be." How ridiculous that promise seemed now.

Mary's face crumpled, tears flowing down her cheeks. Why had she told him? Why had she brought this pain upon them both? She only hoped that he would leave now with no regret, for she knew he could not regret a loss that he had deserved better than to have.

Matthew tried to stop himself. He knew that to ask was only to twist the knife in the raw wound of his soul, but he had to know, to dispel the images plaguing his mind. The truth could hardly be worse than what he could not help but imagine.

"Tell me what happened." He turned to look directly at Mary, bracing himself. Her eyes met his. She drew a breath sharply as she read all the emotions etched on his face, twisted in distress. She let out a quiet sob as she observed his tear-stained cheeks. The reflecting despair which was evident on her own face did not pass him by. As his piercing blue eyes bored into her soul, she opened her heart.

"He came into my bedchamber, that night," Mary began. Her voice, no more than a whisper, trembled as she forced herself to re-live the event. "He came unbidden, and undesired. He had approached me after dinner, if you recall, when I told him plainly that nothing could possibly happen between us." For the first time, Mary began to see how wrong the whole thing had been. Yes; she had told him to leave her alone, she had not asked or wanted him to come in to her. "I don't know how he even found his way to my room, but there he was. My first thought was to scream, and I thought I would, but he said that him being in my room alone would cause scandal." Mary remembered the sick panic that had gripped her that night, and it began to swell again as she recalled it. Matthew's face remained impassive. "So I remained silent," she continued. "I didn't know what to do. I freely admit that I was attracted to him," Matthew winced imperceptibly at her admission. She continued. "He persuaded me that it would be alright, that no-one need know. I was curious, I suppose, and he seemed so sure of himself." Mary began to weep once more, unsure of how to continue. "He kissed me, and... In truth, we had barely begun when... When –" Mary broke down as she recalled the shock of Pamuk's untimely death.

Matthew watched her as she spoke, and as she wept a small seed of sympathy began to grow amidst the sorrow and anger churning within him. He paced towards the window, feeling suddenly as though the room were too small, closing in. His thoughts raced, in a vain attempt to comprehend his own feelings. One question still burned in his mind.

"Mary, why did you tell me?" The questioning despair on his face broke Mary's heart. She had been so sure she was doing the right thing, had not considered just how deeply the truth would cut him.

"Because you deserved to know the truth," Mary responded quietly, calmly trying to convince herself, as well as him. "Matthew, when I could not give you an answer to your proposal, you believed that it was because I did not care for you. You deserved to know that you _should_ not have cared for me, for I am unworthy of your love." She sighed quietly, resignedly accepting her loss.

"I don't know what to do." Matthew spoke wearily, shaking his head. He felt utterly drained of all strength and thought. How could he comprehend this, or deal with it? What was he supposed to do?

"I can claim no innocence, and I can ask for no forgiveness," Mary said resolutely. "Though it would break my heart, you must go if you feel that you must. But go in the comfort of knowing this: that my hesitation was in no way due to a lack of affection on my part, simply my hesitance to admit to you how unworthy I was. You must not look back with regret over me, that I could not marry you; you are free to find a woman who is worthy of your virtue."

There, she had done her duty and released him. Though her heart was pounding and her breathing erratic, she felt oddly calm, as though a great burden had been lifted from her. She had been entirely honest with him, told him the whole truth, had opened her very soul to him as she would to no other. She looked away from him, trying to picture his handsome face in her mind as it had been when he laughed and joked with her, not as it was now. She didn't want her last vision of him to be his face contorted in anger and disgust. Closing her eyes, she whispered. "I do love you Matthew... Goodbye."

And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, escaping before she became engulfed by the overwhelming sorrow in her breast.

Matthew remained dumbstruck as he watched her walking out of the door. His eyes stung with tears and a blind panic began to spread through him, warring against the conflicted torment of his heart. He had never felt pain such as this. He was sickened, horrified, wounded by her admission. He felt angry, yet the seed of sympathy battled against his anger. Her words spun round and around his mind, had she wanted it? Had she encouraged it? Did she regret it? Yet above all this, one feeling rose; one stronger than the rest, making it difficult to breath. He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. He watched her walk out of the door, and desperation rose like a wave at the prospect of never seeing her again. It overbore all his pain, all his hurt, and he could not prevent himself from running after her. No matter how much she hurt him, he could not let her go, not if there was the slightest chance that she loved him back.

"Mary!" her name tore raggedly out of his throat as he caught up to her in the hallway, grasping her elbow. She spun around to face him, her dark eyes wide in surprise, her mouth slightly open. Her eyes searched his face and his searched hers, the communication deeper than any words that could pass between them. Matthew began to weep openly, unable to process all the emotion pouring through his soul. Desperately gripping her arms, he begged her one question. "Tell me truthfully Mary, I beg you. Do you love me? Truly?" His eyes pleaded with her.

Mary's heart felt as though it were about to explode. She had never before felt such a swell of emotion in her life. She could read in his face everything he felt, and she was overwhelmed. She could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart in her ears.

"Yes," she wept. "Surely now you must know I do!"

Matthew's hands moved from her arms to gently hold her face, his thumbs brushing her tears, not caring about those pouring from his own eyes. He shook his head slowly, unable to put into words all that he felt. His eyes flickered across her beautiful face, and he knew that he could never in his life love anyone as he did her.

He bent his head suddenly and kissed her. Their lips met, fiercely, each pouring their heart and soul into the kiss. They clutched each other, their tears of mutual sorrow and joy mingling, as though they would lose each other forever if they let go now. Mary leaned against him, afraid that her legs would buckle under her and give way. After an age of the most sublime bliss she had ever felt, she reluctantly pulled her lips away, hands still clutching him desperately.

"But Matthew," she breathed shallowly, raggedly. "I don't understand, you must hate me after what I've done!"

"No, Mary," he shook his head, eyes narrowing in determination. "I love you. I know you didn't intend what happened. I can't pretend that the knowledge doesn't hurt me more than I can say, but it's not enough to allow me to let you walk out of my life, if you love me." She nodded fiercely, barely daring to believe that he could truly love her that much. "All I know is that I can't bear the thought of being without you." He grasped her tightly, willing her to believe him.

"I know, I feel the same," Mary allowed herself a tiny smile. "I'd be so terribly bored without you here, Matthew." He smiled weakly back at her, briefly, before his eyes narrowed in seriousness.

"Mary, there is just one thing." She nodded in acceptance; she would do anything that he asked of her. "Just... I would ask that we never speak of Pamuk again. I'm sorry, but it's too painful."

Mary blinked once, contemplating. She considered her words carefully before speaking.

"I'll be honest, Matthew," she spoke slowly. "You must not ask me to pretend that it never happened, because I can't do that. You must understand that though it pains me, I wouldn't be who I am had it not happened." Her eyes searched his, willing him to understand. "It opened my eyes to a lot of things. I'm not even sure that I was capable of feeling, of loving, of understanding myself, before it happened. And so we must not pretend that it never occurred. But," she assured him, "if you wish, then it shall not be spoken of." Relief spread through her as he nodded slowly.

As if to prove his acceptance of her answer, his response was to gather her into his arms and kiss her once more. They embraced passionately, each pressing themselves to the other as if to mould themselves into one being if they could. Their joy overflowed, and they poured what they could not put into words into their sweet kiss.

Without warning, the front door opened. It took a second of realisation before Matthew and Mary snapped apart in shock, and their eyes were met by the equally shocked face of Matthew's mother.

Isobel stared in disbelief, taking in the sight before her. She had not missed their passionate embrace, and was not quite sure whether to feel disturbed or exuberant to see her son in such a manner. In the deafening silence, she observed the pair's tear-stained cheeks; even Matthew's, her heart panged for her son. Yet she could also see the hints of a smile on each of their faces. Her eyes passed from one to the other. Mary lowered her head, ashamed, and Matthew coughed, touching his lips as if to hide the evidence of their kiss.

"Mother!"

"Well," Isobel spoke quietly. "I must say I was not expecting to see that when I returned home!" Her voice was level, her tone unreadable.

"Mother, I –" Matthew desperately stammered to try and excuse themselves.

"Matthew," his mother interrupted him swiftly, smiling. "Am I to understand, from the display I just witnessed, that things are finally settled between you?"

Matthew's eyebrows rose at the lack of rebuke, his mouth open in surprise. He looked towards Mary, his heart softening immeasurably, and he suddenly realised that they had not discussed the most important thing. He looked back towards his mother quickly.

"Might you just excuse us one moment, Mother?" He turned back towards Mary, lightly grasping her elbow, leaning down to speak quietly into her ear. "My darling, I must ask you one last time." His soft blue eyes met hers. "Do you love me enough to spend your life with me? Will you marry me?"

A smile of pure joy spread across Mary's face, and her eyes shone.

"Yes, I do. I will." She whispered to him.

As she gazed at her love, happiness spreading through her soul in sweet relief, Matthew turned back to Isobel, his eyes shining with joy.

"Yes, Mother. Mary and I are engaged."

**The End!**

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A/N: Well, there we are. I just hope that I did them justice! I'd love to know what you thought, reviews massively appreciated.

Thank you for taking the time to read it :)


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